Darcy Lou, Where Are You?
by philyra-tales
Summary: Darcy has come to a standstill in her life. Unsure of what she wants in her career, and alone during the holidays, she's feeling utterly miserable. When she starts receiving gifts from her Secret Santa, she dares to hope that finally, someone is paying attention to her. Will Darcy have the courage to take that leap of faith and take hold of everything she was meant to?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: **Written for the Asgard Winter Exchange for her-little-musings.

**Prompt given: **Loki is coerced by Thor to participate in a Secret Santa, and he winds up picking Darcy's name.

**Pairing(s): **Loki/Darcy, (slight mentions of) Thor/Jane and Clint/Natasha

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything. All characters, settings, and proprietary language are owned by the author of the work from which this is derived.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

The more Darcy stared at her mentor, Jane Foster, the more she became convinced that the older woman was in fact, not human. Was it possible for anyone to become even _more_ driven after 36 straight hours of work, with only coffee and a sub-par chicken sandwich as fuel? She wondered if Jane would be offended if she were to ask when the mother ship was due for landing. Was there any non-offensive way of asking if your boss was an alien? She didn't think so.

Of course, as Jane's research assistant, it was Darcy's job, no; more like moral obligation, to make sure that the scientist was well fed, well-rested and had some sort of organization to the chaos in her office. Seeing as how she was currently going two for three, she didn't think she was doing too badly.

"Darcy," Jane called out without even looking up from her data charts, pencil tucked behind one ear. "See that we have the newest data from Stanford for tomorrow's experiment."

"Sure, Miss Jane," Darcy responded, the honorific sliding uncomfortably with her tongue. She'd much prefer Miss Foster but the woman herself balked at the notion when she conducted Darcy's interview. _"Miss Foster is my aunt who lives alone with 3 cats and a pet rock. Jane would do just fine."_ Yet, Darcy couldn't address Miss Foster by her first name. It felt too strange to her, addressing someone elder and with so much more experience in the field as an equal, and so they compromised. Darcy could call her Miss Jane if she promised not to bring her taser into work and give the security guards a hard time.

Darcy moved across the office that she shared with Jane; mindful that she didn't knock into any of the documents piles and went straight for the stack that contained the Stanford information Jane wanted. To the untrained eye, their office seemed as if a hurricane had just swept through it, but Darcy was used to the complaints by now. Like Jane, Darcy was able to see patterns in apparently random messes and given that she actually understood Jane's filing system, she was hired. Making sure she stuck a large enough post-it with a bright enough note saying "STANFORD – THIS IS WHAT YOU'RE LOOKING FOR", Darcy left the file closest to Jane's laptop – an almost improbable task given that her desk was overfilling with papers, news clippings, files and a strange blue cube performing paperweight duties – and went back to her own work.

Glancing at the clock near the door, Darcy sighed softly. There was still an hour before knocking off, and what awaited her was more research. Of course, this was to be expected given her job description – _research_ assistant – but Darcy couldn't help but feel that there was more to life than this, whatever _this_ was. It wasn't that she hated her job; far from it, she liked Jane who treated her kindly but there was just something missing in her life. How could she explain it to Jane, who was so practical and methodical? How could she explain that what Darcy does every day for a living was slowly stifling her, slowly draining whatever it was that made Darcy _Darcy_?

Darcy Lewis was a girl of creativity, someone who burst with life and craved for adventure. She was the kind of girl who, at eight, rode her bike to as far as her small, chubby legs could take her, proclaiming that she was off to find the moon, horrifying her parents who nearly called for a manhunt. Everything about her was supposed to be buzzing; the tiny spark of electricity that could kick-start _everything_. Darcy was supposed to be alive, but now, she wasn't.

Ever since her parents divorced and she went to live with her mother, she was pushed to do everything that was safe and conventional. She was forced to give up art and instead, had to take remedial classes in mathematics and science. She gave up adventure for a life of staring at blackboards filled with equations and other information that she didn't care to know. Even taking up this Stark job was her mother's idea. _"It pays the rent, dear, unlike those 'art projects' of yours_," her mother had scoffed.

Her job was slowly suffocating her, but whom could she blame when she herself was too much of a coward to go for what she really wanted? Years of living with her mother could do that to a person. Living with her mother was both liberating and stifling, between her mother relishing her newfound freedom and giving unwanted advice to Darcy whenever they saw each other. Life swung between feeling neglected and oppressed. No, safe and predictable were what protected her, and these were what brought success in a person's life. Rent paid, stable career, a good life, those were what her mother extolled. She supposed this unhappiness had always been around her, always surrounded her from the moment she went to live with her mother, and even though she kept it at bay most days, today was not one of those days. It was like a fog, thick and murky to the point that she could feel it upon her fingers, blanketing her until it was all-consuming.

Feeling utterly miserable now, Darcy couldn't bring herself to concentrate on her work and when a mailroom staff knocked on their office door, she felt a shove into the throes of melancholia, all blues clouding her vision. Jane, too absorbed in her work, failed to see their guest so Darcy, managing a weak smile, stood and went to receive the package he came to deliver, a small, brown non-descript box. Placing it on Jane's desk, right on top of everything else so that she would be sure to see it, Darcy stared wistfully at it. It was probably yet another gift from Jane's boyfriend, another scientist in Stark Enterprises, who had taken it upon himself to surprise Jane every day with baubles and trinkets for the festive season, something like a Secret Santa that wasn't secret at all. Darcy had seen them before, and while they were of little value, Darcy saw how Jane's face lighted up every time she opened her gifts. She saw the little curve of a smile on her face; heard how her voice lost that tired edge every time she spoke with Thor, and it made Darcy sad and a little envious. Where was her little piece of happiness? She wanted to be wanted too. It had been a few years since her last boyfriend and the ache was spreading larger, the longing to be with someone and to _be_ someone for a person was turning to be an all-consuming burn.

The festive season was the one thing that could always cheer her up, no matter what, with the Christmas lights, the snow, hot cinnamon drinks. But now, it only reminded her that couples were having fun, reveling in their togetherness and she was not. Her own Secret Santa hadn't even sent her anything yet, even though the company drew and matched names two weeks ago, and Darcy couldn't help but feel that perhaps once again, she had been forgotten.

* * *

Trudging up the stairs to her flat on the fourth floor, Darcy grimaced at the sloshing sound of her boots making contact with the ground. Stupid, temperamental weather! Snow, she could handle, but a torrential downpour with no umbrella? It was no wonder she looked like something the proverbial cat would drag in. Despondent and shivering slightly, Darcy couldn't wait until she got home where she would just soak in her bathtub and maybe order some Chinese takeout. Having reached the landing, she paused to rummage through her bag for her keys and nearly dropped them when a voice startled her from behind.

"Hey, neighbor." A man, his lower body modestly clothed with a bath towel, was leaning against the doorframe, grinning like the Cheshire cat. Darcy turned to face him, and promptly kept her gaze fixated on his face, noticing that _hey, he got highlights! _It was not that she was a prude, but her next-door neighbor was famous, or rather infamous, for being _very_ comfortable with his body and Darcy didn't feel right ogling at him. Though, she had to admit, one of the perks of living with such an exhibitionistic neighbor was that she got to occasionally look at his very well defined muscles.

"Hello," Darcy greeted, sure that her current look of hair stringy, makeup smeared, clothes dripping wet would unsettle him. They were not close by any means, but in an extremely odd and creepy way, Darcy felt like she _knew_ him, judging from all of his nightly activities she was privy to. Their building was old, with terribly thin walls, and so, was it any wonder that she felt like she should now be on first-name basis with Clint and Natasha and that when it came to their rambunctious love-making, they didn't mind taking the Lord's name in vain?

"Rough day?" Clint asked, with slight concern in his voice as he took in her appearance. Instead, the pizza box in his hand distracted Darcy and her stomach rumbled at the thought of piping hot food. Her gaze lingered hungrily upon the box before she snapped out of it, jingling her keys in Clint's direction.

"You have no idea." Darcy mustered a weak laugh as she walked closer towards her door. "See you around," she offered as she inserted her key and unlocked her door.

"Yeah, see you!" Clint gave her a friendly wave and went inside, the walls ironically doing nothing to ensure his privacy. _"Tasha, food!"_

Stepping into the dark, cool apartment with shadows cast long and moody against her walls, Darcy simply let her bag drop onto the floor with a dull 'thud' as she stepped out of her sodden boots. "Please don't have sex tonight," she said to no one in particular as she longed for some peace and quiet. While she was glad that Clint and Natasha were having some fun in their new bed, she hoped that a good night's rest would help rid her of the doldrums. Shedding her clothes as she made her way to the bathroom, she saw the various projects that littered her apartment and finally saw them for what they really were. Half-done paintings, half-done sculptures, half-done knitting, _god, did she ever finish a single thing in her life?_ What happened to her creativity? What happened to her spark, her iridescence as her father called it? Why couldn't she finish her projects anymore?

Tears streaming down her face, it took Darcy slightly longer to get the bath running and when she finally did, she slid in, face streaked with makeup and crying bitterly over something she didn't quite understand herself. Her hands went to cover her face, as if somehow, even in the privacy of her home, she was ashamed to face herself. The warm water was washing away her weariness, but now, a different kind of heaviness was settling over her. Shoulders heaving, big, ugly sobs pouring out straight from her chest, Darcy felt completely lost. Where could she go from here? How could she continue with this _existence,_ knowing that there should be a _life_ out there for her? Then, hearing the now-familiar creak of her neighbors' bed, she was reminded, once more, of how lonely she was too.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The room was completely dark except for the light that came from the desk lamp, illuminating a figure hunched over the bureau. With steady and precise craftsmanship, Loki placed the final delicate touches to the metal charms laid out in a row in front of him. Despite the tangled mess that was settling in his stomach, his hands continued their rhythmic, consistent work. All he could hear was the _clink, clink_ of the chisel making contact with the cast iron, and in an odd way, it soothed him. The fact that he was pouring all of his expectations into these few metal charms was frightening, but he knew that this was the right thing to do, that he had a sign and this time, it would go right.

_Loki was in the break room, drinking a cup of coffee while thinking of a way to get out of traveling home to visit his parents, when Thor interrupted his thoughts with a proclamation. "Loki, you must!"_

"_What are you talking about?" Loki simply raised an eyebrow, used to Thor's roar of a voice by now._

"_What's this I hear about you not wanting to join Secret Santa?" Thor pulled up a seat beside Thor and went to sit by him, his face full of grim concern. "Maria mentioned it to me."_

"_Why do you care?" Loki scoffed, unwilling to believe that his brother was bringing up such a trivial matter. That was Thor for you; he found importance in the strangest of things._

_Thor shrugged. "Maria mentioned that you haven't submitted your name and she wanted me to remind you to do so." He laced his fingers together, clutching them as if in fervent prayer. "You should do this, it's an American tradition that I think you would benefit from!"_

"_First of all," Loki cleared his throat after drinking the last of his coffee. "We __are__ Americans; we were born here, remember? Secondly, we already did this in high school."_

"_No…" Thor drawled. "I did it in high school, __you__ didn't. You kept to yourself, buried your head in books and magic tricks while I socialize and had fun and…" Loki's knuckles turned white as his grip on his coffee mug tightened but Thor didn't seem to care. "Anyway, you should join because I did it for you!"_

"_What?" Loki stood so abruptly that his chair fell with a clatter. "Why did you do that for? You son of a –"_

_Thor stood, with a somewhat smug smile that it took all of Loki's strength not to punch him. No, workplace assault was strongly frowned upon in Stark Enterprises, and as much as he wanted to shoot his brother, he couldn't do it in public, not unless he wanted to have to deal with their father too._

"_Here, just take it." Thor struggled to press a piece of paper into Loki's hand, the younger man refusing to even let his brother touch him. "I drew someone's name for you, just take it and have some fun." After a few more minutes of furtive scuffling, Thor won and Loki emerged from their fight, a little breathless and with a crumpled slip in his hand._

"_You're a bastard, you know that?" Loki called out as Thor walked out of the break room with a spring in his steps, his boisterous laughter still echoing in Loki's ears._

That was two weeks ago and the initial wonder he had when he first opened that slip of paper never left, the astonishment keeping him warm despite the cold weather front. How could he express the joy and dread he felt at having chosen Darcy Lewis? How could he express to anyone that from the moment he saw Darcy at a long-ago company party, he fell completely in love? It was terribly cliché but was it his fault that he had been nursing a crush ever since? He still remembered how she looked when he saw her by the punch bowl and how she said "hi" when he came closer; her oval face tinted with a rosy complexion, her eyes bright and piercing and a voice slightly husky from sleep and drink. She was casually attired in a black dress that hugged her figure and with her lustrous, wavy hair; he remembered how she looked so much like a siren that his breath simply left him, and he kept stammering and behaving like a complete fool during their brief conversation.

"_Hi."_

"_H-h-hi, hey."_

"_Cool party, huh?"_

_A beat. "Um, yeah. I mean; if you're into parties and all, I mean, yeah, y-yeah cool party."_

"_Darcy? Darcy?!" He heard someone call out._

"_Sorry!" That apologetic smile, the sheepish look in her eyes. "Miss Jane is looking for me. Enjoy yourself!"_

After that night, his thoughts kept drifting back to her even though he only knew nothing else of her. It took him a while, but armed with her name, he was able to wrest her department from Human Resources. His tenacity surprised him; he was not one to expend such efforts into anything other than his hobby of magic tricks, but there just was something about Darcy Lewis. Their encounter was achingly brief, but he felt _something _when they met, like they were meant to meet, no matter what. It was as if the myth of the red thread his mother always talked about was true: an invisible red thread connecting those who were destined to meet, and regardless of time, place and circumstances, the thread would never break. He felt such a pull to Darcy; his body wired electric as he fought to keep himself under control. Everything he had ever been through, all the girlfriends he had ever had, all the lousy jobs he ever held, everything brought him to Stark Enterprises and to Darcy. It didn't make sense to him, but then again, love rarely did.

As much as he hated Thor for signing him for Secret Santa, he was glad for the chance to interact with Darcy. He had always wanted to pursue her, but his relationships never end well; he had the unfortunate tendency to hurt the people he loved before they could hurt him. Add his overbearing father to the mix, he thought he should just leave Darcy out of it. He tried to walk away, tried to convince himself that a crush couldn't possibly be love, and every day, he came a little closer in proving to himself that Darcy couldn't contain the ache in his heart, the throb that beat loneliness and outcast among his family.

But this was a sign! Fate was finally intervening, and he had to act now because he was never going to get such an opportunity again. He didn't know what to expect, but he hoped, as he held the metal charms one last time, giving them a tiny squeeze for luck, that Darcy had remembered him as he remembered her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Darcy hated crying, not that she made it a habit to cry regularly but she really hated crying. That feeling of lethargy, the way her face ached, particularly her eyes with that raw, chafed feeling. Her eyes were slightly swollen, though not to the point that she couldn't open her eyes. Still, she made sure to apply a slightly more generous amount of concealer that morning to work. Just because she was a lowly research assistant didn't mean that she could slack off in appearances.

Yet, despite her attempts to keep her spirits up, such as waking up super early to tidy her house – though it was more of moving one mess from one part of the apartment to another – she wasn't feeling particularly cheerful. Not because she had to trudge through three inches of snow that had suddenly appeared overnight, or the crowds she had to battle while heading to work, or even the guy who got a little handsy in the subway. No, she was upset because she didn't get to have her morning coffee, the disappointment still bitter at the back of her throat as she recalled the sight of "Closed" at the window.

Others might mock her but the only way she got through her mornings was with her caramel latte and after last night's crying jag, she longed for it like an addict for his fix. So it was with dejection and frankly, a little anger at having been groped too, that Darcy came into the office, striding in with purpose: _'I'm going to crunch some numbers and work out my frustration!"_ She was about to dump her bag onto her desk when something caught her eye. A lone red paper cup, bearing the mark of an unfamiliar shop, stood on her desk, accompanied with a small card tucked underneath it. Surprised, Darcy slowed down, the momentum causing her bag to swing and nearly thump her on the chest.

"_Did Miss Jane do this?"_ Darcy thought to herself and immediately countered it with a shake of her head. Jane wasn't even in the office yet and even if she were, she wouldn't get Darcy coffee. She barely remembered to get coffee for _herself_. Walking towards her desk, she picked up the cup and took a deep sniff, her knees nearly buckling at the sweet ecstasy of recognizing caramel. Opening the card, Darcy smiled to herself as she read the message, _"Thought you might like a pick-me-up_."

Despite the freezing air-conditioning in the room, Darcy felt warmth spreading through her. Her fingers tingled, and she could feel blood rushing to her face. _Am I blushing over a cup of coffee_? Reading the card one more time, she saw that it was signed _SS_ and she couldn't help but let out a short laugh. To think she was just complaining about her Secret Santa last night. Taking a sip of the still-hot coffee, Darcy thought on how such a simple action could speak of thoughtfulness and sweetness. As she traced the words on the card with a gentle touch, she liked to think that perhaps, someone was finally noticing.

* * *

_Ding!_

The elevator chimed at its arrival and Darcy stepped in, her heels clicking at the linoleum floor. Feeling rather pleased with herself, her curls bounced as she grinned to herself within the privacy of those four walls. She had managed to sneak onto the 35th floor to do a little Secret Santa-ing for her own, having previously asked colleagues to drop off small packages for her. Today was her final and grandest gift for her new friend, Steve Rogers. She didn't know much about him but after asking around, and given the fact that he was one of the architects under Stark's employment, she guessed that he was an artist and tailored her presents to suit.

Gift vouchers to art stores, good quality art supplies, and now, her masterpiece, a Rembrandt soft pastel box set that she snagged during a sale. Darcy's only regret was that she would not be able to see Steve's face when he opened his present, though judging from the rumors circulating, he seemed to be very pleased with her earlier gifts, getting teary-eyed on more than one occasion.

The elevator door was about to close when Darcy heard a frantic shout. "Please! Hold the door!" Seeing a guy running towards the elevator, her hands flew to the panel of buttons, as she desperately went to find the 'open' button. "_Awkward, much?_" she thought to herself as the man, his chest heaving with the deep breaths he was taking, entered the small space, mumbling his thanks. Keeping her eyes fixed onto the now-closing door, Darcy mentally kicked herself for being such a spazz.

"_Shit! It's her!" _Loki's mind warped into a panicked mess as he sought to hurriedly catch his breath, his right hand going to smooth his hair and then later, his shirt. His throat, already dry from the run to catch the elevator, constricted to the point of pain as the butterflies in his stomach fluttered incessantly. _"Calm down! Calm down!" _The command reverberated throughout his mind and slowly, but surely, he felt his racing pulse eased up and the heaving stopped.

Daring to take a glance at her, Loki debated whether he should say hi, when she too glanced at him, and her lips curled into a quick smile. In that moment, however, as he watched her gaze slide over him and back to the button panel, he felt his heart enveloped in iciness. Her glazed look, devoid of any recollection or sentiment, confirmed his worst fear of Darcy Lewis: she didn't remember him. The giddy excitement that fueled him for the past couple of weeks dissipated with a hiss as his insides slowly turned into lead.

"_Get a grip! Just say hi!"_ His reasoning was thankfully still intact and Loki quickly rehearsed his line. _"Hey", "Hi", no, "Hey's more casual." _His heart rate beginning to climb once more, Loki ran his hand through his hair cursorily and just as he was about to open his mouth, there was a chime, and the door opened, and out walked Darcy Lewis.

"Bye," Loki muttered to no one in particular, as he raised his hand, his fingers giving a tentative wave. Crestfallen, his face fell and not caring if anyone else was present, he remained in the elevator, slumped against one of the partitions and cursing inwardly.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"Darcy, you didn't tell me you were seeing someone," Jane remarked the moment Darcy stepped into their shared office.

Slightly taken aback by the sight of Jane already in the office, a cup of coffee in her hand as she went through a stack of papers, Darcy's mind couldn't quite process the question. "Wait, what-huh?" She stopped at the doorway and shook her head.

"Those flowers. They certainly are very beautiful." Jane gestured toward Darcy's desk, her surreptitious smile suggesting that she had uncovered one of Darcy's secrets.

Still confused, Darcy looked to where Jane's attention had been captured and a gasp left her parted lips. On her desk laid the most beautiful bouquet of roses she had ever seen. A stunning mix of white, pink and yellow roses with small clusters of baby's breath, the bouquet gave off a sweet and delicate fragrance – of spring and romance – that permeated the entire office.

"Are you sure they're not from Thor?" Darcy could hardly believe that the bouquet could be for _her. _No one, not even her previous boyfriends, had ever surprised her with flowers at work and with such a beautiful bouquet at that. The thought of believing that the blooms were for her, only to be snatched away with reality, was almost heartbreaking.

Jane's smile was kindly with even a bit of compassion mingled in. "He knows I like daises. Darcy." There was a pause as she looked at her assistant meaningfully. "The flowers are for _you_."

Releasing the breath that she wasn't even aware she had been holding, Darcy walked over to her desk, her hand almost greedily reaching out to touch the cellophane paper. She lifted the bouquet to her nose, and inhaling deeply, she felt a little giddy, almost pleased that red roses weren't included. How unconventional her Santa was! The two ladies shared a laugh before Jane turned back to her own work. Invigorated, Darcy sat down and cradled the bouquet for a little while more. She searched for a card, and was slightly disappointed when she found none. _"Secret Santa?"_ she thought to herself, her mind hastily putting together a list of co-workers that could be the ones surprising her with the presents before giving up. Stark Enterprises employed more than two hundred staff members; there was no way she figured it out.

Still, the roses cheered her up immensely and Darcy reluctantly put them aside to begin her work. Yet, the sight of them distracted her constantly, and in the end, her frustration won out. The moment her computer was up and running, she opened her web browser and started searching for the meaning of roses.

_White – purity, innocence, silence, secrecy, reverence, heavenly_

_Pink – appreciation, grace, perfect happiness_

_Yellow – friendship, promise of a new beginning_

Having never received roses before, Darcy's mind swirled at the many meanings for each color and her fingers absentmindedly went to trace the petals. "_Didn't roses use to just mean love?" _she thought to herself before dismissing the thought entirely. _"Girl, no one is in love with you! They're just flowers!"_ Except, her Santa could have chosen any other kind of flowers, but he didn't. He picked _roses. _The realization was both confusing and flattering, and after a few moments, she shook her head in a bid to clear her mind. She was about to close her web browser and start on work proper when a soft chime sounded from her computer. _"You've got mail!"_ the bubble announced happily, it seemed.

"_That's weird!"_ Darcy rarely received work emails, the majority of them coming from Jane and given that she was within earshot at the moment, her curiosity peaked as she opened her inbox.

"_Hope you liked the roses! – SS"_

A delighted squeal nearly escaped from Darcy had she not clamped her hand over her mouth. Taking a quick peek at Jane, she was relieved to see that the scientist was now too engrossed in her work to notice anything else save for a nuclear explosion. Darcy turned her attention back to the message, her eyes scanning it for more clues. While it had been sent to her work email, the message itself came from an external account: _secretsanta _

"_Not entirely original, but he's getting the work done!" _Her fingers hovered above the keyboard as she pondered on whether she should respond to the message. _"Oh, what the hell?"_ Within a few minutes, her reply was crafted and after a perfunctory check, she sent it off, her fingers trembling slightly with anticipation as she felt her cheeks flushed with pink.

"_I did! Thank you so much! You really shouldn't have! – D"_

Minutes went by and without anything else to distract her, Darcy had no choice but to dive into work. The wait was agonizing; she didn't remember Secret Santa being this thrilling, exhilarating, but then again, they didn't exactly have instant messaging or high-speed Internet connection the last time she played the game.

"_Well, I had to up my game! Didn't want you to think I was forgetting you! – SS"_

Her flesh still tingling from the suspense, fingers twitching, goose bumps rising, Darcy swooned, surprisingly eliciting a raised eyebrow from Jane. Christmas was going to be so fun!

* * *

The days went by in an unexpected brisk blur; her working hours periodically interrupted by the cheerful chime of her inbox notifications. Her Secret Santa had taken to sending her random notes that were both inspiring and jolly, pictures of cute animals (her favorite) and even poems from writers like Shakespeare, Whitman, Frost, Poe; the day he wrote her E.E. Cummings, Darcy thought she had died and gone to literary heaven. No one had ever sent her poetry before; even if the poetry wasn't his, she undoubtedly felt romanced.

Little by little, Darcy realized that she was falling in love with this complete stranger. With each message and poem and sonnet and picture, he seduced her mind and captured her heart. With each message she composed, with each response she replied, it was as if she had attached a tiny piece of her heart along with it.

She didn't know who he was, what department he belonged, but she knew what made him laugh, and knew that he liked pictures of cute kittens too. She felt such a connection to him. She liked how with a single sentence, it was as if he had known her for her entire life and she wondered how could she have gone on in this company without knowing this person.

The notion scared her; the thought that she could feel so strongly, so ardently for a person she had never met before. She started getting butterflies in her stomach every time she checked her inbox, like the feeling of sitting a rollercoaster, getting pushed all the way to the precipice and then the rush of freefalling, the adrenaline coursing through her body. She understood, of course, that it could just be all in her mind, that it was entirely possible this affection she was feeling was purely one-sided. But she didn't care.

He flirted with her, and she flirted back, flattered that it seemed like he was wooing her. She was so wrapped up in his attention and compliments that it wasn't until later on, did she realized that she had failed herself. He was her Secret Santa _from work_. An office romance? She couldn't! God, what if her Santa has been Phil Coulson from Engineering all along?

But she had grown to await his messages, whoever "he" was. Their exchanges were hardly long since they had to be working but they shared secrets. Darcy told him of the angst she was feeling, divided between what she wanted to do, even though she had no clue what that was, and what she was already doing. He spoke of his childhood, of a father who didn't care much for him and of his passion for magic instead of numbers.

She couldn't decide! Here was someone who genuinely cared for her, and the feeling was more than mutual but how could she imagine an office romance when she wasn't even sure if she wanted to remain in the office? How could she think about _love_ when her life was a mess, with no direction or purpose? The discord within her raged on and gradually, her replies and messages grew shorter and shorter until they stopped altogether.

* * *

The walk up the stairs to her apartment was tiring, made worse by the day's occurrences. Running errands for Jane, providing assistance in numerous experiments, the mountain of paperwork she had to do; yet, they all paled in comparison to receiving another email from her Secret Santa. That weird feeling of apprehension, dread and excitement, all mixed up into a ball that settled in her gut. She just didn't know what to do anymore. The thought of her falling in love with a stranger was only tempered by the fact that the stranger worked in the same company as she did.

She could tell he was getting anxious for her replies, and honestly, she should have handled the situation better. But she didn't know how to! How does one tell a complete stranger, _"So we don't know each other, but I think I'm in love with you, and that scares me so let's not talk ever" _without sounding like a complete head case?

No, she'd just wait for the big reveal at the annual Stark Christmas party, and when he'd come up to introduce himself to her, she'd pretend to laugh it off and say that her computer's been giving her problems. _"Ugh, I need a break,"_ she thought to herself as she reached the staircase landing. _"I need ice-cream and a chick flick and I need to switch off my brain,"_ she mused, reaching into her bag for her keys.

"Well, it's about time!" A seemingly disembodied voice spoke from nowhere and it startled Darcy so much that she screamed, dropping her keys, and her legs nearly giving way. Heart pounding, adrenaline already rushing through her veins, she had to grip the walls before turning to the source of the voice, receiving yet another shock when she saw her mother.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Darcy was incredulous, unable, or rather, unwilling to believe that her mother, her strict, prim and proper mother was now standing in front of her in New York City. _"This cannot be happening!" _she screamed at herself. She can't have her mother here with her. Her life was stressful enough already.

"Is that any way to greet your mother?" Claudia Lewis emerged from the shadows, carrying her luggage and a handbag. Despite the long flight she must have had, Darcy would concede: her mother looked impeccable, as always. Dressed smartly in a suit, with elaborately coiffed hair and makeup that consisted of bright red lipstick; Darcy always thought her mother looked more like a politician's wife than anyone else. Even now, watching her mother take off her pristine white gloves, Darcy could feel the disappointment she must have been feeling. _"Look at my daughter! Look at the slob she is!" _

"Well, aren't you going to invite me in?" Claudia spoke up, jolting Darcy from the stupor she found herself. She still couldn't believe her mother was in town. Her heartbeat finally stabilizing and her legs regaining strength, Darcy forced herself to move forward towards her door, pushing the key into the hole and unlocking her apartment.

Using her back as a doorstopper, she reached out to take her mother's luggage, bracing for the heavy load. For her part, Claudia simply released her luggage and stepped into her daughter's apartment, instantaneously appalled at the mess. "I can see you haven't taken up housekeeping since the last time we spoke," she said, not pleasantly, as she walked further into the home. The look on her face seemed to suggest she was not entering a place of residence, but rather a sewage treatment centre. As Darcy watched her mother pick up a T-shirt from her couch, nose wrinkling in aversion, Darcy knew that however much she may hate her personal life at the moment, it was nothing compared to what her mother was going to make her feel.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"_Honestly, Darcy, what use is your college degree if you don't apply yourself?"_

"_Darcy, you know, I'm sure the house wouldn't mind it if you vacuumed it once in a while."_

"_A research assistant doesn't pay very much, does it?"_

Her mind was a cacophony of her mother's complaints, deafening and overwhelming. Her mother had only arrived three days ago, but Darcy was ready to kill her already. It appeared as if Claudia felt nothing but dissatisfaction in Darcy and everything that came out of her mouth was a complaint. She wished her lie had been more convincing. She thought that by telling her mother she had to work over time in the office, she could get out of visiting her in New Mexico, but that plan obviously didn't work. She wished she had some sort of warning at least; the embarrassment she felt every night during Clint and Natasha's nightly activities was nothing compared to the mortification that her _mother_ could hear them too.

It was only lunchtime but the thought of having to go home to see Claudia again, to see that look of pity on her face left Darcy feeling humiliated. What was it about her mother that could freeze her insides almost immediately? What was it about her that could reduce Darcy to feeling like she was fifteen again, home alone, shirking from her mother as she spoke about how the arts wasn't really for _proper_ students?

It was only a drop or two at first, the tears leaking from the side of her eyes, as Darcy continued to stare at the computer, trying to make the numbers work. But it wasn't before long when they just wouldn't stop. The scalding tears flowed and streamed down her face, and her chest started to heave in sobs. Darcy buried her head in her hands and before she knew it, she was having a breakdown.

How could she continue living like this? How could she make her mother happy but remain true to herself? How could she fight for what she wanted when she didn't even know what it was that she wanted?

Desperate to make sure she wasn't seen crying like this, Darcy haphazardly wiped the tears away with the back of her hand and quietly, but quickly, made her way to the bathroom, keeping her head down, and her shoulders hunched.

* * *

Loki was down at the 17th floor looking for Dr. Banner when he spotted Darcy running into the ladies'. It was only a quick snatch of a glance, and he couldn't be absolutely sure, but it looked like she had been crying. Lips pursed, eyes brimming with tears, the back of her hand covering her mouth; she appeared to be unquestionably devastated.

Now, back at his own desk, he contemplated emailing her as her Secret Santa. His previous messages went unanswered, and the ones before those yielded terse replies. He wasn't sure what he had done wrong, or if he had done anything _right_ in the first place, but seeing the way she looked today, that look of sorrow and hopelessness; it had cut straight through him. No, he didn't know her well, but it pained him to see her in anguish and in the festive season too. It upset him to think that someone would intentionally make Darcy cry because he thought the world of her, believing her to be kind, sweet and endearing.

"_Just do it," _he thought to himself. _"She needs someone now, more than ever. She needs a friend! Who cares if she doesn't reply? At least you tried!"_

Nodding to no one in particular, he did a quick search online for funny stories and jokes, and, what he knew to be her favorite because she told him so, pictures of cute animals. Compiling them into a single email, he composed a simple message to go with it, hoping that she would respond to him this time. _"Haven't heard from you in a while! I hope you're having a great day! – SS"_

Though he thought it childish, Loki couldn't help it but cross his fingers after clicking 'send'. He knew it would be foolish to wait for an immediate reply; so focusing his attention back on to his work, he was momentarily distracted by the mundanity of his employment. He was in the midst of drawing up yet another legal document when his browser tab started blinking, indicating a new email message. With slightly shaky hands, he clicked on the message and read it.

"_Hi! Thanks for your email. I really needed it today! – D"_

Loki wondered if he should probe further. While he wasn't going to mention the tears, her reply gave the impression that she was still troubled and he wanted to help. Surely, as someone anonymous, he could provide guidance, no matter how superficial?

"_Do you want to talk about it? It's all right if you don't, but if you, I promise, no judgment! – SS"_

Her next reply surprised him with its promptness. Perhaps she didn't have anyone else to talk to, or that his theory – anonymity encouraging disclosure – was proving to be right.

"_Have you ever felt like you can't do anything right by your parents? It's like whatever you do, no matter what, they're never happy. They'll never approve. That's how I feel like. I feel like I have to please my mother all the time, but I don't want to. I mean, I do, but not at the cost of my own happiness. Does that make sense? – D"_

Her message struck a chord within him. Was he not having the same problems with his own father? Odin Borson was not known for showering affection, or any kind of genuine emotion really, but while his brother Thor was spared of their father's callousness, Loki was not. The older man would often pit them brothers against each other, be it in sports or academics, and needed no reason to criticize Loki. Odin never approved of his penchant for magic trick, he never approved of his choice in girlfriends; in retrospect, Loki didn't think Odin approved of him at all. His mother was kinder; loving and Loki adored her beyond measure, but her altruistic nature could not temper her husband's cruelty.

So yes, it made perfect sense to him. It was his life mirrored back, and he indubitably wanted, no, needed to help her. While he was no longer on speaking terms with his father, he remembered the old man's tyranny. He remembered the oppressive heat upon his back, the feel of someone constantly breathing down his shoulder, the hopeless sensation that he was never going to amount to anything.

Fight back the nausea that was now threatening to overpower him; Loki composed his message, hoping that his words could provide some comfort to Darcy.

"_Yes, I know how it feels like. My father was, I mean, is someone who needs to be right all the time. I won't pretend and say everything is going to be peachy but you should know that you're a strong, independent, beautiful, kind, caring, wonderful woman, and any parent would be lucky to have you. It's hardly my place to lecture you, but I think, if you feel so strongly about your happiness being in contrary to your mother's, you should tell her. It's your life; you're the one living it and you should fight for what you believe in. I did, and it's not perfect but I'm happier now, and at the end of the day, that's what matters, right? – SS"_


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

As ungrateful and unfilial it might be; every morning, Darcy had taken to leaving her apartment even before her mother woke up, something that had not gone unnoticed and Claudia continued to add new items on her complaint list

"_Why are you hardly ever home?"_

"_Are they working you to the bone? They aren't paying you very much if that's the case."_

"_I have seen nothing outside of this apartment since arriving, not that there's anything really to see in this horrible city anyway."_

Thankfully, her favorite coffee shop had since reopened and the caramel latte she so longed for proved to be the sustenance she needed to get through her life. After reading her Secret Santa's message the day before, she was comforted that someone understood what she was going through. Of course, she thought it unlikely that she was the only one going through parental troubles, but knowing that she was communicating with someone who could comprehend her state of mind, it was a relief.

Coming back from lunch, Darcy was re-arranging the files and boxes in their shared office for Jane – because they had new material coming in – when she noticed a small gift box on her desk. It was so small that she did a double take when she spotted in, the object nearly blending into the mess that was surrounding it. Filled with curiosity, she walked towards it, cradling a stack of folders balanced on her right hip.

Spying a card, she slid it out from underneath the box, already sure of the sender. True enough, the card wasn't even signed but held only one word in elegant script. _"Courage."_ She lifted the lid gingerly and gasped, awe evident upon her face. Inside the box, nestled on top of cotton wool, laid two metal charms in the shape of apothecary bottles, only slighter larger than the size of her thumb. Wanting to inspect them further, she put down the stack of files and holding the box in one hand, she took out the first charm with her other. Marveling at the workmanship, she was even more amazed when she saw wording on the charm. _Essence of Dreams_ was chiseled onto the bottle in neat block letters. Darcy had never seen such intricacy before, and was delighted to think that it was for her. Turning her attention to the other charm, she saw that this bottle, chiseled with _Wish Tonic_, was carved with a bow on top, captivating the little girl in her.

Such beauty simply took her breath away and she suddenly found it hard to breathe. The charms were so beautiful, obviously hand-made, and she couldn't believe that they were now hers. The message was clear: her Santa was hoping that they served as reminders that she was fully capable of pursuing her own dreams and wishes, and it touched her. She was moved to see how a stranger could put so much effort and thought into this gift, to know that she meant _something_ to a stranger to warrant such effort. And ass much as she didn't want to, she was falling in love with him all over again.

* * *

Each new email fortified Loki, emboldening and propelling him forwards. When Darcy's replies first got shorter – and frostier – before disappearing all together, he had imagined the worst of himself. He had offended her, insulted her, or worst, was deemed uninteresting to engage any further. In the immediate aftermath, Loki was compelled to reevaluate himself and what he wanted from the exchange.

Was it wise to believe that just a simple exchange like this could make Darcy fall in love with him, a complete stranger? Was it prudent to think that a few gifts would convince Darcy that they would make a great couple?

No, it was presumptuous and arrogant of him to have such confidence in himself, so in the face of Darcy's apparent iciness, an assessment was needed. He decided that what he wanted more was Darcy's friendship, regardless of any romantic sparks between them. He liked how they had the same sense of humor, and they brightened each other's day with a few simple words, and most importantly, he liked how she made him feel. With their conversations, he felt wanted and appreciated, not like with his family, and if nothing else, at least Darcy liked the gifts he had prepared. He had meant to give them – all three – in a set, but after reading about Darcy's troubles with her mother, he knew he had to cheer her up and thankfully, his presents matched the occasion.

Still, worries continued to plague him. Would she feel the same way he did when he revealed himself? Even without romantic attachments, would she even think of him as a friend? Would she later even consider a romantic relationship with him?

* * *

The weekend was finally here, and for the first time in a long while, Darcy was feeling revitalized. Her Secret Santa's gifts to her was precisely the reminder she needed, that she was fully capable of having the life she wanted, and that she deserved to be happy. Refreshed by this new found energy, she woke up early and started cleaning her house, organizing her scattered projects into neater piles. Yet, as she picked through them, she reminisced about the joy they made her feel, and how she felt most alive while being creative. She even considered the idea of leaving Stark Enterprises to focus on her art, knowing that somehow, she had to do right by her youthful creativity.

That was how her mother found Darcy a few hours later into the morning, head hunched over a painting she found lying around. It had only been a quick outline of the Manhattan skyline, and it was difficult to get back into the swing of drawing after so long, but now, there were more details and even a few splotches of paint as she experimented with her coloring techniques.

"Is this how you spend your weekends?" Claudia said rather dismissively as she came from behind to look at Darcy's work spread out over the countertop. A little miffed, Darcy paused in her sketching, but said nothing.

"You start on something new, and then abandon it, and start on something else?" Claudia continued to say as she stood in the kitchen, pouring herself a cup of coffee. "Why can't you focus on something more long-term?"

"This is what I like to do, Mom," Darcy said in an extremely clipped tone. "It's just a hobby."

"No, it's not." Claudia laughed; a harsh, derisive laugh that made Darcy cringed. "Even in high school, you would keep starting on these projects, but you never finish any of them." She took a sip of her coffee before continuing. "I'm leaving tomorrow, Darcy, I can't keep taking care of you." Darcy swallowed an indignant snort, keeping her head down as she stared at a spot on her sketchpad. "All these art projects of yours will not pay the bills; you can't just keep concentrating on the present, you have to…"

"No!" Darcy yelled, slamming her hands onto the countertop and startling her mother. Her pencils and stencils lay scattered across the floor as she stood up, her body trembling in anger. "For once in your life, can you just be happy for me!" she shouted to a surprised Claudia, who could only stare at Darcy in shock. Tears flowed down Darcy's face, hot tears scalding her cheeks, and her nose started to run. "This is _my_ life and I want to live it my way! I've always loved art, and I only gave it up for _you_! But not anymore! You're right, you can't keep taking care of me, because you never have!"

"Now, now, you just…just…just – " Claudia sputtered but Darcy cut her off.

"You have never approved of anything I did, or of me, and you've always put me down. I never said anything because I thought that made me a good daughter but according to you, I never can. So that's it!" Darcy snuffled and wiped the tears off her face. She hadn't meant to cry during her outburst, but her emotions were overpowering. It was as if she were a bottle and for years and years, she had smothered every negative thought and feeling against her mother and now, the pressure was just too much and she exploded, filial piety be damned.

"You've always compared me to others, well, stop it!" she snapped at her mother, who stood shell-shocked. "They're not your daughter, I am! I want to matter, and I should, to you!"

Without a glance back, or even stopping to get her coat, she stomped out of her apartment, leaving a speechless Claudia in her wake.

* * *

The harsh, bitter wind slapped across Darcy's face repeatedly, leaving the skin red and raw and Darcy cursing at herself. Stupid of her to think that she wouldn't need her coat. Stupid of her to think that she had to _leave_ her house to make a point. What, she couldn't just lock herself in her room, like she used to?

Burying her hands deeper into her jeans pockets, she tried to ignore the cold but failed as the wind rustled through her hair, her face stinging from the frost. It had been hours since her confrontation with her mother and she had been walking the streets ever since. The first hour or so had been consoling, as she gathered her thoughts and pondered over her actions. Perhaps she shouldn't have been so harsh, but now that her feelings were made known, she felt better. She no longer felt burdened by the weight of her mother's expectations, and if Claudia felt that her outburst only proved her own point of Darcy's inadequacies, then Darcy would no longer care. Too long had she lived in the shadow of her mother, and in the shadow of everyone she was compared to. No, enough was enough. Her life was meant for something more. It would not be easy, or painless, but anything worthwhile rarely was as such.

Still, the frosty weather was getting the better of her. As she looked around the park, where she was seated on a bench, she saw families hugging one another, or huddling close as they tried to get out of the cold as soon as possible. Darcy thought about the frost in her own apartment in the form of her mother, and wondered, which would hurt less.

* * *

The first thing Darcy noticed when she came home to her apartment was that the mess on the countertop had been straightened out. Her pencils and other art tools were neatly arranged, and her sketchpad sat unopened nearby.

"Good Lord, look at you!" Claudia emerged, quite suddenly and out of nowhere, with a thick blanket in her hands. She quickly wrapped it around Darcy and ushered her into the living room, making her take a seat on the couch while she went to the kitchen. The move, while being extremely warm and caring, was unusual but Darcy made no mention of it. She wasn't going to pick another fight with her mother when she just got back.

"Here, take this." Her mother returned with a mug of steaming coffee and Darcy received it gladly, the heat from the mug warming her hands most pleasantly. The mist was strong enough to reach her face, and the chilly burn of her cheeks subsided gradually. The cold slowly left her body, leaving her feeling snug and cozy. Darcy then noticed the intense look her mother was giving her, and instantly felt bad when she spotted her mother's teary eyes.

Putting down the mug, she reached out for her mother's hands. "Mom, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…" But before Darcy could finish her apology, Claudia spoke first.

"No." She shook her head. "_I'm _the one who should be apologizing." Claudia's voice shook and faltered, before she paused, regaining her composure. She placed her hand over Darcy's and continued, a few tears falling. "I know you think I don't regard you highly, but it's not true. My guarded affection for you has everything to do with how much I love you." She inhaled shakily, and Darcy squeezed her hand once. Claudia smiled and with her free hand, cradled one side of Darcy's face. "When your father and I divorced, I saw it as his fault. He was too flighty, too reckless for our marriage to work and I blamed him for something that was both our fault. I thought he would never amount to much in life, and I couldn't have someone like that for my husband. I resented him for making me stay at home, for making me give up my career so that he could pursue his, without much success, I might add.

"Then, I saw how much you took after him, his creativity, his free spirit, how he wasn't inhibited or constrained by reality or practicality, and I feared for you. I was afraid that you would grow up wild and independent only to have life cut you down because you were too adventurous. It was misguided, I know, but I pushed you to make sure that you wouldn't turn out like your father, never once stopping to consider if it was a sound idea.

But today, you showed to me that it wasn't, that I have pushed too hard, and that I was wrong to have ever doubted you." Claudia was openly crying now, and so was Darcy. The two women sat cross-legged on the couch and they held each other's hand, Claudia tucking strands of hair behind Darcy's ear in a loving gesture.

"After you left, I saw your work, your art, and I never should have deprived you of it. You're right, you're my daughter and I'm your mother; I should have taken better care of my baby, because that's what mothers do. I'm so sorry. I was too harsh and strict, not because I was indifferent or because I didn't love you. It's because I love you very, very much." Claudia's hand rubbed Darcy's back and she leaned forward to kiss Darcy on the forehead. Pulling back, she asked, "Could you ever forgive me?"

"I love you too," Darcy sobbed as she pulled her mother in for a tight embrace, the first in many years. "There's nothing to forgive."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

"Darcy, really, that's enough. You don't want to suffocate people," Claudia complained as she watched Darcy debate on whether she should spritzed a little more perfume on her neck. She sat on her daughter's bed, as the younger girl admired her reflection in the dresser mirror. Despite their reconciliation, Darcy was well aware that with her mother, old habits died hard. It was difficult for Claudia to withhold her criticisms, but at the very least, there was no malice intended.

"Fine, fine." Darcy gently placed the perfume vial on her dresser and stepped further into the light to see how her dress looked. Tonight was the night, the _big reveal_ at the annual Stark Christmas party, and she was beyond nervous. All day long, she had been twisting her hair, enduring a jumpy stomach with the nausea making her want to just collapse on the toilet. She shouldn't be that nervous, really, but given how much help her Secret Santa had provided her, she thought the world of him, and tonight, they would finally meet face-to-face. What if she wasn't everything he had hoped for, or he wasn't everything _she _had hoped for? The anticipation was eating at her, making it almost difficult for her to breathe.

Her room was strewn with discarded dresses, shirts, skirts; evidence of her entire day's work, which was trying on countless of outfits before deciding they were all 'too boring'. It wasn't until Claudia, finally resolving that enough was enough, took the bull by the horns did Darcy get anything accomplished. Claudia sat Darcy firmly down into a chair, rolled curls into her hair so that she wouldn't fidget with them anymore, and started putting outfits together for her. The thought of her mother picking out something for a party she was attending horrified Darcy, and the panic spurred her into action.

Of course, the dress she had ultimately chosen didn't sit very well with the matriarch, what with its slightly more revealing neckline but Claudia, very wisely, decided not to say anything about it. Darcy had found the 1950s vintage dress in a thrift store some time ago, but never really had an occasion for it, until tonight. She liked how its bright red color offset her fair skin beautifully, and how the pinched waist accentuated her figure. The flare at the bottom even flattered her womanly hips and the fur trim at the neckline drew some attention to her cleavage. The dress was modest and sexy at the same time, and after consulting a magazine, Darcy managed to pull off the coveted 'sultry at midnight' look with a dark red lipstick and smoky eyes.

"Well, you look nice, dear," Claudia complimented, though it was obvious to them both that 'nice' wasn't her preferred adjective. Nonetheless, she hugged Darcy, careful not to ruin any of her makeup, and handed her a shawl, resisting the urge to swaddle her tightly with it.

"Thanks." Darcy smiled. She had not told her mother of her Secret Santa, and of all the help and advice he had dispensed, but it was clear that tonight meant something to her. Giving her mother one last gentle reminder not to stay up for her, Darcy picked up her clutch and left the apartment.

* * *

Taking in a few forceful breaths, Loki checked his reflection in the mirror once more, making sure he looked his best. His hair was slicked neatly back, he was wearing his finest, albeit his only, suit and he had even broken out some cologne. He thought about getting a corsage for Darcy but then gave up on the notion. They certainly weren't some teenage couple at a prom, and he wouldn't want her to feel embarrassed by it at the party.

Giving his front jacket pocket a pat, and feeling the padded envelope he had tucked in, he felt reassured. This was Darcy's final gift, his third charm accompanied by a letter. He was placing all his hopes, all of his optimism onto this little envelope, containing a charm chiseled with _Love Potion_ and a written letter. He knew the charm would imply that he was somehow trying to induce love in her, but he wasn't. His letter, pages and pages of blue fountain ink, would explain everything; would show to her that the charm was a symbol of how he _didn't_ need a potion to fall in love with her; he already found her perfect. He had meant to give it to her sooner but somehow, it didn't feel right. Tonight, though, tonight felt absolutely right, and he knew the gift would be perfect.

Loki took a final moment for himself, and then grabbing his keys on the table, he left his home, heart pounding against his ribcage as he made his way to the party.

* * *

The party was in full swing, but there was still no sign of her Secret Santa. The Human Resources department had announced that all reveals were to be done during the party and so, Darcy, like every other person, waited patiently for her Santa to reveal himself. She had already revealed herself to Steve Rogers, who had been so delighted that he kept on shaking her hand and thanking her profusely.

"_Maybe that's it,"_ she thought to herself. _"Maybe he's just screwing up his courage somewhere."_ She didn't think she would be nervous at all, making it known to Steve that she was his Secret Santa, but in that moment before deciding to go for it, and actually speaking to him, there was that vulnerability. What if he hadn't liked any of her presents? What if he didn't like her at all? She supposed her Santa was feeling the same way, but as she watched others taking that leap of confidence, she couldn't help but think, _"Just hurry up!"_ The fluttering in her stomach was getting worse and she was afraid she was just going to start heaving on the spot.

"Darcy, there you are!" she heard a voice call out, and turning to where it had come from, she was surprised to see Jane coming towards her, along with Thor and another man. As they approached, Darcy took in their appearance. Jane had stepped out of those loose casual jackets and jeans she always favored and looked really nice in a navy blue cocktail dress. Thor was dressed in a suit, with his long hair tied in a ponytail. With his arm around Jane, they looked very much in love, and Darcy couldn't help but look away when Thor kissed Jane, feeling awkward that she was intruding in their private moment.

The other guy in their company was also wearing a suit but unlike Thor's boisterous presence, he had a more subdued aura about him. His hair was long, but not like Thor's, and it had been neatly combed back. He was fair, like her, and had lovely green eyes. He didn't speak much, or even look at her for longer than a few seconds, but Darcy found him familiar. It was that single notion that kept nagging at her from the back of her mind. She had seen him somewhere before, and she racked her brains for that memory.

"Oh, look, a camera booth!" Jane pointed out excitedly and started dragging Thor and Darcy towards it. "We should have our picture taken! Come on!" Somehow, Thor must have dragged his quiet friend too, because soon, all four of them were squeezing into the cramped booth, hoping to fit into the frame. It was a very tight fit and it was pretty much the guys' faults, Darcy thought, as they did their best maneuvering around the confined space. Even though the curtains were drawn, Darcy knew they must have looked funny on the outside, with the guys' legs sticking out in odd positions. Regardless, Darcy found herself squashed between Thor and his friend, with Jane managing to land on Thor's lap, and it was difficult for the four of them not to start laughing because honestly, they looked like a joke.

The quick flashes of light startled Darcy, and belatedly, she smoothed out her hair, now worried that her pictures wouldn't turn out nice. Surely, they would capture her eyes half-closed, or her hair in disarray. Slowly, the group disentangled themselves from each other, and Thor's friend even kindly offered a hand to help her out of the booth. They shared a smile before he let her hand go, his eyes looking down to the floor.

The booth whirred with the sound of a printer, and within moments, Jane crouched by the side of the booth and pulled out the photo stripes, proceeding to hand them out to the group. Darcy was relieved to see that her picture turned out all right, but her attention was drawn to someone else. It was unmistakable that Thor's friend was uncomfortable in having his picture taken. His lips pursed, eyebrows furrowed, there was even a slight tic under his left eye. But in the last snapshot, it seemed like he was finally relaxing into the situation, and Darcy saw how genuine his smile became, so lopsided that it was cute that it sparked something in her memory. She inhaled sharply but silently, her mouth forming an 'O' shape.

"Hey, Thor and I are going to get some air," Jane said to Darcy. "You're going to be okay on your own?"

"Yeah, yeah." Darcy shrugged and after giving Jane a hug, the couple walked away, leaving Darcy alone with Thor's friend. The two of them stood around awkwardly before he gestured to a quiet corner in the room, walking Darcy to it.

"Hi, I'm Darcy," she introduced herself, extending a hand.

"Loki," he greeted, shaking her hand. Darcy was pleasantly surprised to feel the warmth of his hand, and hoped that her own clammy hands weren't too disgusting.

Realization dawned upon Darcy. "You must be Thor's brother. Wow, your parents must really love Scandinavian mythology, huh?"

"They're actually Scandinavians who immigrated to the USA before we were even born," Loki revealed, eliciting an attentive response from Darcy, who leaned a little closer to hear him speak better. But when he spoke no further, she guessed that his family was probably not something he liked discussing at length. She did like the way he spoke, cultured, and slow as if he was deep in thought. There was even a slight accent but Darcy couldn't place it: British, maybe, or Scandinavian?

They stood there in silence for a while; Loki looking at all corners of the room; in fact, everywhere except Darcy, while she took the time to pluck up her courage. Turning her attention to him, she cleared her throat, and immediately regretted it for when he turned those intense, green eyes onto her; it was as if they were looking right into her soul. His stare was far too intimate, and yet oddly comforting, and she wasn't sure if she wanted him to look away or not.

"I'm sorry I didn't recognized you," she apologized with a sheepish smile. "I remember you now. We met at, at another party, and then again, in the elevator about two weeks ago?"

Loki was surprised. He thought that after the elevator incident, there would be no chance of Darcy remembering him, and now, as they were talking to each other, she did. She remembered him! His heart soared as his boldness was renewed, determined to make sure things would go according to plan.

"I-I wasn't sure if you did," Loki stammered a little, blinking as he tried to get his thoughts straight. When he saw her smile at him again, his breath caught in his throat, and he had to try and swallow the lump that was now forming there.

"Well, my dad used to say that once you've met someone, you never really forget them." Darcy gave him a coy smile and Loki felt his heartbeat almost falter. He hadn't expected Darcy to look the way she did, her red dress mirroring the invisible flames engulfing his entire body. His heart was racing; he could actually hear the rush of blood in his ear, as he thought about how best to reveal himself to Darcy. _"Don't screw this up, don't screw this up!"_

Darcy maintained a polite smile, but she was really looking around the room for her Secret Santa. Surely he would have mustered enough courage by now? Why would he keep her waiting like this? How could he be so cruel? Instantaneously, she felt ashamed. What if he was home, sick to his stomach, or something had happened in his family, which was why he couldn't come? How could she be so callous to think like that?

But as she noticed Loki fidgeting a little nervously, shifting the small bulge he had in his front jacket pocket, the reality dawned on him. Darcy placed a gentle hand on Loki's shoulder, causing him to start a little. "Sorry," she muttered. "You-You're my Secret Santa, aren't you?"

Loki exhaled and his hand patted his heart, deeply relieved. "I'm sorry!" he apologized too. "I know I was supposed to reveal myself but I was so nervous. Thank you!"

Darcy laughed and Loki grinned sheepishly, the awkwardness finally starting to dissipate. Spotting a bench that had freed up, Loki walked Darcy to it, his hand lightly grazing her lower back. As they took their seats, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the padded envelope. "Here." He handed it to Darcy, who had a quizzical expression on her face. "Your final gift. I should have given this to you earlier, but I thought tonight would be better."

"Oh, thank you." Darcy's face softened into a delighted smile as she accepted the envelope. She wanted very badly to open and see what was inside, but propriety, and her mother, would frown on such behavior, so she tucked it into her clutch. When she was done, she saw Loki staring at her intently, and not knowing what came over her, she reached out to hug him, a tight and fierce embrace.

"Oh, Loki, thank you so much, more than you'd ever know!" She gushed, drawing out a nice pink color to his cheeks. He was obviously caught off-guard with her hug, but it pleased him greatly as he tried to wave off her gratitude. "You've been amazing! I mean, with my mother and everything. I finally told her how I felt and guess what? She accepted it! I mean, we're still trying to fix things, but I think she'd come around."

Darcy was talking about her mother and how they made up but Loki wasn't paying much attention. He saw how animated she was, gestures peppering her speech as she spoke about how he, _he_ of all people, had given her courage to pursue her dreams. He listened vaguely as she spoke of her plans for the future, that after the holidays, she was resigning from Stark Enterprises. She wanted to get back into the arts, nothing too drastic at first, perhaps a position in a middle school as an art teacher.

Wait, wait, what? She was leaving?

Loki frantically tried to refocus on the conversation, desperate to find some sort of way to subtly suggest _not leaving _just yet. If she left, he wouldn't see her again, and judging from the way he was behaving, it wasn't as if he stood any chance either way. As he watched her speak, her dark red lips making such sensual movements, he thought about kissing her. How would those lips feel upon his? What would it be like to touch her lips with his fingers, to gentle take her bottom lip between his teeth? God, she looked so beautiful tonight.

"_I should just kiss her now. She already thinks I'm weird enough,"_ he thought to himself when Darcy suddenly took his hand into hers. His attention snapped back to her face and he started hearing her properly again.

"Loki, I just wanted to say, thank you and…" she paused and she squeezed his hand a little, his heart mimicking the tightening. Oh God, he can't breathe. _Kiss her, kiss her, kiss…_ "You're such a good friend to me!"

The tight coils around his heart fell away and his hand's grip on hers loosened. He tried to maintain his placid demeanor but that took was fast crumbling away. His insides were ossifying into stone, like one of Medusa's victims, and it was as if someone decided to take a seat on his chest.

"I-I, I mean, you're welcome," Loki began to stutter and Darcy grew concerned. He stood up abruptly, surprising her. She tried to ask if he was all right but he cut her off. "I have-have, I have to use the ah, the ah, men's room. Be right back." His legs were a little unsteady but Loki had to get out of there. He _had _to get away from Darcy, away from –

"_Shit, my letter!"_ he thought in horror. Should he just grab her clutch? Just grab it and run as far as his stupid useless legs could take him? _No, no, just leave, just go NOW._ Making vague gestures pointing to the other side of the room, Loki fumbled through his excuses before running out, his stomach threatening to empty its contents.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

The incessant pounding on the door threatened to tear it right off the hinges but Darcy didn't care. She didn't care if it was in the middle of the night, she didn't care if she was a little hung-over, and she most certainly didn't care if she was creating a scene, with how she was standing in the middle of the brightly lit hallway, shivering despite her shawl and barefoot.

"Come on, open the door," Darcy pleaded to no one in particular. She alternated between rapping the door with her knuckles and hitting it straight with her palms. "Please, open." In between her knocks, she heard some shuffling behind the door, and then a crash, and some cursing. _"Oh good, they're still awake!"_

The door opened, and Thor came into view, still dressed in his tuxedo, albeit it missing its jacket and looking a little crumpled. There were even still lipstick prints on Thor's face. _"He doesn't look too happy…"_

"Darcy, what do you want?" he asked in an exasperated tone. "Aren't you supposed to be home?"

"Does Loki live with you?" she asked, the urgency mounting in her voice. She had to know, and she had to know _now_. Bouncing on the balls of her feet, her hands balled into fists, she looked more like a six-year-old excited to be riding at a carnival than anything else.

"Loki? Why are you asking about Loki?"

"Thor, I just need to know. Is Loki –"

"Thor, who is it?" A voice sounded from inside the apartment and their attention was diverted to Jane who came into view. She had put on a bathrobe over her cocktail dress and her hair was disheveled. "Darcy?" she asked, her eyes squinting at the bright lights from out in the hallway. "What's wrong?"

"I need to know about Loki. Where does he live?" she asked her question again, hoping that perhaps Jane would know.

"How do you even know about my place?" Thor still couldn't get over the fact that Darcy was at his apartment. It wasn't that he didn't like her; on the contrary, he liked her very much and considered her to be one of his good friends. He just didn't appreciate the fact that she was interrupting the private time he was having with Jane.

"Will you just get over it already?" Now it was Darcy's turn to be exasperated. "Miss Jane had me memorized her home address, as well as yours, in case of emergencies!" she all but yelled at him. "Will you tell me where Loki lives?"

"Will you leave if I do?" he countered.

"Yes, of course," she responded, as if the thought of staying after getting Loki's address didn't even occurred to her.

Thor disappeared back into the apartment, leaving Darcy to fend off concerned questions from Jane. She assured the worried scientist that she was fine, and that she only needed Loki's address and she'd be out of their hair. Only, that wasn't entirely true. Sure, she was fine, on the _outside_. Inside, she was a jumbled mess. Her insides twisted and turned every few minutes, and she had to constantly steady her voice because the moment she didn't, she was sure she would brawl.

"Here." Thor handed her a slip of paper with an address written on it, but before Darcy could reach for it, he pulled it back. "Honestly, Darcy, it's like 3 in the morning. You should get some rest."

"I will," she insisted, holding out her hand for the paper. He considered her for a moment before reluctantly handing it over to her. She offered quick thanks, and after assuring the both of them that she would be in a cab headed home, they closed the door, not seeing that Darcy was already sprinting to the elevator in her three-inch stilettos.

* * *

"_I really should have gone home first," _Darcy thought to herself as she waited anxiously in the backseat of a cab, her feet aching from all the walking and running around she was doing. Her driver, Colin according to the license he had plastered on the back of the windscreen, was following her instructions and was driving to Loki's address as slowly as possible. _"Just to give myself some time,"_ she had reasoned with herself.

She couldn't believe how her night was turning out but if she had to admit it to herself, it _was _pretty crazy. After Loki ran out on her earlier at the party, she wasn't sure what was going on. She guessed that it was probably because of something he ate, and patiently waited for his return. When he didn't come back even after half an hour, she knew something was up. She even asked someone to check the men's room for her, and when there was no sign of Loki, she was hurt.

How could he have just left her there? Did she do something wrong? She thought they had been getting along fine. Sure, there was awkwardness, but nothing that would warrant him simply ditching her. Angry tears sprung to her eyes as she fought the urge to cry. She _couldn't_. She would not let him humiliate her further.

After informing Jane and Thor that she was leaving the party, citing a headache, she hopped into a cab, wiping away a few stray tears that had managed to escape. It wasn't until the cab was already halfway back to her apartment did she remember Loki's letter in her clutch. _"Maybe it has his address, and I can go there to kick his ass!" _Retrieving it with shaking hands, she opened it and another metal charm fell into her lap.

She couldn't see it well, what with her tears and no light in the cab. But by the passing street lamps, she saw that the charm was made in the fashion of the previous two, and this time, the words _Love Potion_ had been chiseled on the apothecary bottle.

"_What?" _she thought to herself. _"What the hell is going on?" _She couldn't understand. Why would Loki give her a charm that said love potion and then just leave her at the party? Looking into the envelope for any other items, she pulled out a letter.

It took her a while between the jerky motions of the cab and insufficient light but by the time Darcy managed to finish the letter, her body was already slack, with all pluck and grit having left her. _He loved her! He loved her!_

He hadn't thought it possible or even comprehensible but he loved her. He had liked her from the moment they met, and that he should have told her what she meant to him, but he thought she would believe him crazy. Instead, the charm was a token of his devotion; that he needed no such help when it came to falling for her.

Darcy's mind felt like it was on the verge of exploding. She could hardly believe it! Loki was in love with her too? The only reason she proclaimed him to be a good friend was because she thought it would be too much if she were to just profess her feelings for him. How could someone develop such strong, passionate sentiment for a person they barely knew?

Finally understanding why Loki must have felt the need to run away, Darcy quickly instructed the cab driver to drive her to Thor's apartment instead, knowing that he would have his brother's address.

And now, sitting here in her third cab of the night, feet swollen, hair coming a little undone and her body feeling a little too tight to fit all of her emotions, Darcy was racing towards Loki's apartment, hoping that she hadn't scarred his heart permanently, the heart that he had laid bare in his letter.

* * *

Despite the late hour, Loki was not in bed, and was instead, at his desk drafting out his resignation letter. He didn't think it would come to this, but what else could he do? Surely by now, Darcy would have read his letter, and he didn't want to embarrass her, or himself, any further. How awkward would it be to run into her at work, knowing that he had confessed his feelings to someone who only saw him as a good friend?

No, this would be better. He never wanted to work for Stark in the first place, and leaving would provide him the opportunity to start afresh. His father would, no doubt, give him grief about it, but he had long cultivated the habit of simply ignoring the old man.

Taking yet another mouthful from the can of beer he had in his desk, he continued typing at his computer, the screen going a little fuzzier by the moment. Soon, he could barely focus on the words, and decided to leave it for the night. His resignation letter wasn't going anyway.

"_You're such a fool, Loki Odinson!" _he berated himself. How could he have deluded himself into thinking that a few simple gifts would make a girl like Darcy fall in love with him? How could he have thought that writing her a _love letter_ was okay? A girl like Darcy could never fall in love with him. None of his relationships lasted more than a year, he could barely stand the company of his family, and his preferred profession of being a magician was practically a dead end. _No one_ would commit to him, let alone Darcy Lewis. No, a person like him was meant to be alone. A few flings here and there, yes, but for the long term, he was not a person someone could love. The fact that he would rather run away than face Darcy – and had done so – was proof than he was nothing more than a coward who thought himself worthy of something as strong as love.

The doorbell rang and Loki ignored it, finding it unusual that anyone would be coming by at this hour anyway. Flopping down onto his bed, he had made up his mind to simply remain there until the New Year, or the next apocalypse (whichever came first), when the doorbell rang again.

"Go away," he mumbled into the mattress. When the doorbell rang again, he very reluctantly dragged himself out of bed and staggered to the door. He was in no shape or mood for company and dreaded the possibility of human interaction. All he wanted was to get back into bed, and maybe cry like a baby for a while.

All those thoughts vanished when he opened the door and saw Darcy. He inhaled sharply, staring at her in disbelief. She looked exactly the way she did when he left the party, except now, there was a little haggardness, her heels were in her hands instead of on her feet and there were a few snowflakes melting in her hair. Even in his imagination, he didn't think he would see her again, and now, with Darcy right in front of him and him dressed so inappropriately, he was equal parts scared and mortified.

Once again, Darcy was standing in yet another hallway. But while she had a plan going to Thor, now, she wasn't sure if her thoughts were even coherent, let alone, if they could be trusted. She only knew she had to see Loki; she had to know the truth, and she could only get it from him. Seeing him again, after the party where she was left feeling hurt and humiliated, she fought the urge to slap him. Of course she knew why he ran away, but that still didn't justify his actions. Moreover, seeing him dressed in a simple tank top and boxer shorts, while she was still stuck in her now-too-tight dress and melting makeup, she was indignant.

Yet, having Loki standing right in front of her with that sheepish smile across his face and his awkward stance, she couldn't help but think of how adorable she found him in that moment. She glimpsed the man she fell in love with, and without warning, her heart constricted. She wanted _this;_ she wanted him. She didn't care if they were strangers, or that this was something she would normally think insane or that her mind was about to explode from considering every possibility. Her heart wanted him, plain and simple.

"Did you mean it?" she asked him, looking him dead in the eye. She raised her right hand shakily, so that Loki could see his letter. "What you said in your letter, did you mean it?"

Loki swallowed the lump in his throat. "Every word," his tone grave and serious.

"You just left me there," Darcy stated. There was no accusatory tone, or even anger; just a statement of fact. Her voice grew shaky and tears started filling her eyes. "You just left me there, and I had no idea, and I just thought…" she paused with her bottom lip quivering. Loki wanted nothing more than to reach out for her. He hated to think that she was crying because of him, and while it was horrible of him to think of taking advantage of Darcy in this moment of vulnerability, she was exquisitely beautiful. Her rosy cheeks, her radiant complexion, he wanted – no, needed – to taste her lips, to breathe her in.

Darcy took a steadying breath and continued, a few tears falling down her cheeks. She spoke calmly, a strength she didn't know she currently possessed, and not knowing what else to say, she quoted the first song lyric that came to her mind. "You left me in the dark, in the shadow of your heart."

Throwing all caution to the wind, it was as if Loki had been bewitched as he strode across the distance between them, and kissed Darcy on the mouth. He pressed himself against her, his right arm circling her waist, and his left hand going to steady her neck. Offering little resistance, Darcy's body simply softened into his grip, her hands moving to entangle themselves in his hair. Their bodies and chests crushed together, they could almost feel each other's heartbeats. _Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub._

They both moaned into their kiss, and the vibrations sent new sensations coursing through their embrace. Their hands were everywhere; Darcy's moving to roam Loki's back, his fingers pressing harder into her hips. Their desire for each other was evident, as every movement was responded in kind, the intense attention made both their bodies hum electric.

Loki's chilly hands rubbed the bare skin of her shoulders, their coldness giving rise to gooseflesh. Darcy's hands fisted in Loki's tank top and she pulled him even closer, their bodies already so connected, it was as if they were harmonizing into one being. There was no beginning or the end. They just flowed together, not knowing where he stopped and she began.

His breath hitched; Darcy slowly pulled away, herself panting and chest heaving. Her fingers went to trace his lips, marveling at how red and raw they looked, just like hers. Loki tucked the few stray strands of hair behind her ear, leaning in to kiss her forehead. When he pulled away, his voice was still a little shaky but jubilant.

"If I was out of line, kissing you like that –" Darcy didn't let him finished, silencing him with a finger to his lips.

"No." She shook her head. "It wasn't out of line at all."

"So…" he trailed off, unsure of how to continue. "What happens now?"

Darcy herself was undecided, yet she found it difficult to care in light of the kiss they just shared. It was passionate, intense, wild, all-consuming, everything her life hadn't been recently. She felt like Loki had ignited her from the inside, and the only way to douse the flames was to be _with_ Loki. She pretended to think about an answer for a while, and then said, "How about you invite me in, and we can decide from there?"

Loki had no other answer for her, except to kiss her on the lips again and Darcy decided that not everything in life had to be planned out, not everything should fall into comfort zones because some of the very best kinds of things in life were the unexpected ones, the unplanned ones, and she found one of them, along with herself, completely by accident.

**===END===**

**Author's note: **Thank you for reading till the end of this story. While not exactly my best, I am particularly proud of it simply due to the sheer number of words churned out in the shortest period of time (for me). I hope you enjoyed the story as much as I have written it, and if you'd like, you can leave me a review. I always love constructive criticism!


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